


salty

by peachyteabuck



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Without a Prosthetic, F/M, Magic, Tentacle Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 20:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16839841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: bucky frequents the pier where you work. things get interesting.





	salty

Bucky’s been searching for something for forever, yearning for that something like he’s never thought possible. He doesn’t _know_ what the something is, but it’s something. He _knows_ it’s something, and that’s enough for him.

You’re something, aren’t you? Something transfixing, something worth worshiping. He’s known you for a little while: you work at some psychic tent by the pier reading people’s tarot cards and giving little kids sparkly faces in exchange for a few bucks apiece. Your official job title is “fortune teller,” but everyone who’s lived within five miles of that place more than a few years knows you just tempt tourists into giving up their last few dollars at the end of a long day while children lick at the wooden stick from their popsicles and beg to _do one last thing, mama, please._ You capture his attention one day at the pier when he tries to catch a moment to quickly gaze at you and he notices your hair has changed - its normal color is now dyed some sort of green that catches his eye every time he sees you through the crowd of tourists. It’s not like the goopy seaweed that washes up on the beach every now and then, but like mint sorbet. The sun always hits your face in the perfect way, like you’re the reflection of it in the sea at dusk.

It stuns Bucky, both the whispers and murmurs he’s heard around the beachfront and the sharp contrast to what he sees every day. It intoxicates him, makes him want it all. At first he thought it was primal, what you incite deep within him. Something that would make him growl and scratch as his teeth grazed your heated skin, cause you to squirm and tremble as he plunges deep inside you as he roars with every thrust. But no, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. In reality, you make him feel like some pretty, shiny thing that deserves to be loved. For someone like Bucky, that’s even stranger than making him feel like a wild animal who has fallen out of grace from whatever god created him.

One day, Bucky is able to galvanize enough courage and suppresses enough fear to find his way to your establishment and plop himself in the crickety chair inside your stall. He makes no move to speak, just takes in the tacky scenery.

After a few moments, you hum and melt into the back of your chair. “Why do I have a feeling you’re not here to get your fortune told?” Usually when he sees you you’re always sitting up straight, looking professional and attentive. Now you seem soothed, calm, relaxed. Once-tightened muscles are now lax, your once-straight back now slack.

Bucky shrugs, trying to seem as undisturbed as you are. “Because I’m not.”

“Wow, my powers are unmatched,” you tease. Bucky chuckles, eyeing the sign behind you. _FORTUNE TELLER_ , is says in large, golden writing outlined in thin white paint. He skims the rest of the tent, noticing the interesting (see: weird) decor: some incredibly shiny and sharp knives with intricately carved handles, a painting of some swans on a river and another of a bath with some light blue bathwater and white foam swirled in with it. The color scheme is much lighter than he expected, especially with your reputation. “So…why _are_ you here?”

Bucky finally looks at you as he speaks. “Come on a date with me.”

You cock an eyebrow but don’t hesitate. “When?”

Bucky can taste something salty from the ocean to their right as he swallows nervously. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the waves surging towards the shore and then slamming onto the sand, destroying sandcastles and dampening abandoned towels.“Tomorrow okay for you?”

You nod once. “Sure. What time?”

Now Bucky leans forward, resting his right arm against the sheet-covered table - narrowly avoiding multiple decks of cards (tarot and otherwise) and a burning dark blue candle. That’s when you notice that there’s nothing in the left sleeve of the black sweater he’s wearing. It’s loose, the only reason you notice is because Bucky’s muscle tense every time you so much as blink. _An amputee, interesting._ “What time do you get off of work tomorrow?”

“About eight,” you reply truthfully. “Bring me an iced chai from that little coffee shop about a block down.”

Bucky nods once, understanding the order. The feeling coursing through his veins is a mixture of thrill and fear. The excited part of him is delighted that you’ve agreed to do this with him, and the scared part is…

The scared part is nervous that you’ve agreed to do this with him. So far, though, the happy part is winning - so he lets that guide him until the time of your meeting. He waits under the broken-down pier - the ones where teenagers go to set shit on fire and finger each other for the first time. The silence of the location is suspicious, but not unwelcoming. He’s less worried about someone else finding out and more about you becoming distracted and not paying attention to him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see a stray lapping at a small spill of some red soda. He checks his watch every thirty seconds, his muscles unreasonably tense as he anxiously awaits your arrival. Normally he likes something to grasp at, but without a water bottle or candy wrapper to squeeze he’s reduced to picking at the loose threads of his old ( _“Vintage,” Steve told him one. “It’s vintage, Buck.”_ ) t-shirt.

He becomes immersed in his own nervousness, so much so that your arrival scares him so badly Bucky screeches like a schoolgirl caught doodling her crush in math class.

“Jesus _fuck_ ” Bucky cries, hand over heart as its beats per minute skyrocket. “ _You could’ve scared me to death!_ ”

You’re giggling too much to respond, out of breath and gleeful. Your hand is clasped over your stomach, trying to breathe. “I swear I wasn’t,” you have to take a moment to inhale deeply before you can continue, laughter stopping you from being able to speak clearly. “I swear I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Bucky rolls his eyes and growls playfully. “Liar!”

You just shake your head, biting your lip. “I’m sorry,” A few more giggle escape you. “Does that make it better?”

Glaring, Bucky braces himself against one of the broken columns and groans as he realizes what just happened. He doesn’t say anything as the excitement of the moment dies and you walk closer, slowly, to the water. Bucky swallows, standing up and looking at the ocean with you. Your eyes are closed, but he figures that you don’t need sight right now. You’re just taking in the _feeling_ of being around the ocean; letting the salty smell and taste, the sounds of the waves and seagulls and children screaming at parents rip them from their fun day at the beach, every so often you can feel the water between your toes as the ocean pummels the sand,.the temperature lowering as the sun slowly progressed down her path to the underside of the world all flood your senses and enchant you into silence. Despite the beautiful dusk, though, Bucky only desires you, only _craves_ you as he watches your body rock to some rhythm not unlike the crashing waves.“How do you know people’s fortunes?” He asks, staring at you.

One of your eyes crack open to look at him. You give him a closed-mouth smile and it makes his heart flutter like when he was a teenager. It takes all of his willpower not to lunge at you there, just do whatever it is he wants to do to you right there on that warmed beach.“The sea tells me,” you whisper in his ear before grabbing him by his hand and leading him into a cave-like crevice in a pile of rocks. It’s hidden from the pathway and squeezed between a bunch of abandoned fishnets and moss-covered tree stumps - the maze of oceanic fauna parting to create an opening you can only see from certain angles. The artfully hidden entrance is obviously meant to keep out nosy intruders of whom would love disturb you. As Bucky follows you, adrenaline rushes through his veins and thuds in his ears. He’s not fearful, per say. It’s not as if this is the same kind of emotion one associates with death. Rather, it is the anticipation of a storm. Fittingly, water droplets from the roof of the cave drip onto Bucky’s skin every few minutes or so. There’s a thickness in the air that thins as Bucky trails behind you. His steps remain timid, careful. Yours are the complete opposite. It’s obvious you’ve done this before - but with who and how often Bucky has no idea.

The main cave is deep within the series of tunnels, illuminated by balls of floating light near the ceiling. It’s sort of exactly what Bucky expected and nothing he thought it would be. Far off to the side is a small pond, where bubbles float to the surface and - when they pop - release a small bout of steam into the air. Right next to it is a large circular bed overflowing with pillows and blankets, all different colors and patterns and shapes and sizes. Some are beautiful quilts, seemingly hand-sewn and carefully crafted. Others, though, seem like the blankets from Bucky’s childhood his mother still keeps in a cardboard box in the dusty crawl space above his sister’s room back in their childhood home. Towards the opposite ride of the room is a small kitchenette that has obviously been used recently but not extensively. Bucky doesn’t get to see much else before you’re dragging him onto the bed.

He’s passive, allowing you to pull him into he middle of the sea of fabric. He has a hard time balancing over you due to his singular arm, so you flip him over so that you’re straddling his thick, muscular thighs. He allows your hands to roam his body - to run your fingers tips to run over the seams of his clothes, to feel the muscles that tense more as time goes on, to scratch at his five o’clock shadow. Bucky’s hand remains tentative at your hip, not moving but obviously wanting to.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” you coo, leaning down to kiss him again.“If you want to touch me, it’s okay…” He doesn’t say anything, just moves his hand up, up, _up_ under your thin white sweater to cup your left breast and roll your nipple between his fingers. In the past, your breasts have not been this sensitive, but as he toys with your ample chest you moan and jerk towards him, encouraging Bucky to continue. Without another hand to balance on your thigh, you have to do most of the work to keep still

As his eyes and hands roam your body, your blood feels electrified. Small bolts of lightning zap over your skin as he hands rouse something in you you’ve never felt before. You moan deeply into the kiss, causing Bucky to chase after the contact of your lips. You giggle a little bit, moving down to the zipper and button of is deep blue jeans. Slowly, you pull them down to free his hardened cock. Goosebumps quickly form on the newly exposed skin, making a shiver run up Bucky’s spin.“Oh, you’re needy for what’s to come, aren’t you?” you purr. All Bucky can do is bite his lower lip and nod. You can _see_ how much he wants it, though, so you don’t press for the normal verbal confirmation.

Slowly, octopus-like tentacles dart out from under your skin on your back and down your sides. They’re a soft blue - baby blue, some have called it. They reach out to caress Bucky, to cling to him. He allows himself to be devoured by them as they ease and curl around his body. Quickly, they realize that there are several barriers of the fabric kind in their way of Bucky’s hot skin, and they soon strip him to reveal his sweat-coated skin. He succumbs immediately, hissing as their slick surfaces rub, savor, massage over his heated skin and around his cock and hole. Ravishing is what they do best, and it always helps when the

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky moans. “Fuck, this is so much better than everyone said.”

You giggle, reveling in the feeling of your tentacles surrounding Bucky. One finds its way into his mouth, and he sucks on it lightly to taste the sweet film that covers it. The stimulation is overwhelming, and unexpected climax washes over you. “Whatever you just did,” you command as your body convulses lightly, “Do it again.”

Bucky wears a shit-eating grin as another tentacle brushes through his hair. “Of course.”

There seem to be about a hundred of the thick appendages, all trying to coax Bucky to pay attention to one more than another. He happily surrenders all his attention to the particular few that cradle his cock and encircle his hole and stroke his balls. The moans only urge them on in their ministrations, the squishy appendages soon covering Bucky like a second skin. You lean back, just letting them relish Bucky in whatever way they see fit. They coax themselves in and out of Bucky in a slow, purposeful rhythm. The way they fuck him is nice, sure, but it’s exactly what Bucky wants. He forces one tentacle out of his mouth long enough to gasp out a “ _more_.”

You bite your bottom lip and smile. “Beg for it,” you tell him. “If want for it, you need to _beg_ me for it.”

Bucky doesn’t skip a beat, drool falling out of the corner of his mouth while the tentacles continue their movements. “Please, _please_ fuck me so hard I can’t breathe, I want it to hurt. _Please_ ,” he pleads, breath heavy and chest heaving.

“Of course,” you purr. One by one, the tentacles that previously moved slow as time now are focused on fulfilling his request. A few pound into his tight pucker, stretching Bucky for more to fill him. As he writhes, a few hold down his flailing limbs. Bucky whimpers, obviously wanting to touch you. It’s…sweet. That’s the only world you can use to describe it. Carefully, you wave away the trashing tentacles that keep his arm down and move to his side as to make it easier on his sore body. You’ve never had someone do this before, want to pay attention to you instead of your appendages. Bucky simply moves to cradle your face in his hand and swipe his thumb over your bottom lip. You nip at it, a playful move he wasn’t expecting.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, so quietly it feels as if the thought was just meant to be for him. A raging heat rises onto your cheeks, and you have no idea what to say. You just remain silent as you want his pulsing cock and heaving chest. All the other ones weren’t nearly as pretty as him, no fun to watch at all. Bucky, though, captures all of your attention. It’s like watch master painter create a piece right in front of your eyes, or witnessing a photographer capture a sunset on their camera. It’s breathtaking, to say the least.

One of the tentacles senses your arousal and worms its way down to your clit, rubbing it so hard your thighs tremble. “Fuck,” you _gasp_ , grabbing the attention of another. It fills your cunt, ramming into you at the same pace it penetrates Bucky. Your arousal drips down around it and onto your sheets, the sight of which makes Bucky moan deeply.

“Did I do that?” His voice is breathy, body twitching every few syllables. It’s hard to form thoughts as the tentacles shove themselves inside him while they pump his cock. Bucky’s had sex before, sure, but not like this. Never like this. He can feel the tentacles natural lubricant seep from his tight hole, it tickles him a little as it trails down his body and causes a dopey smile to spread across his face.  
  


You can’t speak, you just nod. “Mmhmm.”

It doesn’t take long for you both to come, bodies wracked with sobs as you two collapse. Most of the tentacles retreat back into your body, but a few linger to help soothe Bucky and yours aching muscles. You both lay in silence, Bucky sated with drool falling from the left corner of his mouth onto one of the faded pink pillows. A faint tingling lingers in his body, making him laved in pleasure. “That was…” Bucky starts, but can’t finish. He’s too thoroughly fucked to do anything, his senses too overwhelmed with you to correctly form words, let alone full blown coherent sentences.

“Yeah,” you agree, letting out a breathy laugh as the last of the tentacles wiggle their way back inside of you. They, too, are satisfied. Your pussy clenches every once and awhile, still slightly pulsing offbeat from the throbbing of your body due to the last few hours of fucking. Slowly, you turn your aching body over so that you can nuzzle into his chest. Neither of you stir, your legs and souls entwined too much to allow for too much movement - it’s almost like you’re fused together. It’s a nice change of pace from all the others. Bucky nuzzles into your shoulders and nibbles at the sore muscle. You tense a little, but luckily Bucky doesn’t say anything. You guess this is what you’ve read is like “cuddling.” From what you’ve seen, it’s a thing that humans do when they love each other. That sort of worries you…the idea of attachment and whatnot. This, though. This is nice.

Slowly, both of you fall into an unexplainable haze neither of you awake from for hours. Normally, once you are finished you force them to haul their asses out of your cave so you can clean and dress yourself and go to work. The second they’re out of sight, you immediately tug the dirty sheets off of the bed and deep clean everything so that so trance of them remains, yanking any tie they had to your home away from them. For now, though, you allow Bucky to snuggle with you and as he reddened skin heats yours. You don’t normally like to be restrained in any sense, either. When you’re alone you like to thrash until you find the _perfect_ spot, and when you’re with a lover you prefer to be one _doing_ the cuddling. Bucky is different, though. With him it feels okay to be vulnerable, to put yourself in a _position_ to be vulnerable. As he wriggles into position, you wait a moment for him before cuddling into him.

“Is this…okay?” Bucky asks. The light has since gone out and you both are staring into the darkness. The closeness of his voice causes you to shudder a little.

You consider it for a moment, whether or not you’re actually good with this. “Yeah. Yeah, this is okay.” You can feel Bucky smiling into your skin in lieu of an actual response, but that’s okay, too. This is - all of this - is something you’re okay with.


End file.
